


fly to my room (little less lonely)

by SugarHighs



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Comfort, First Meetings, M/M, Meet-Cute, Phone Calls & Telephones, editor akaashi, is it really a meeting if they don't meet face to face, pro volleyball player bokuto, this fic is alternatively titled do not try this at home
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:34:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27645542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SugarHighs/pseuds/SugarHighs
Summary: “Bro,” an urgent voice filters down the line. It’s not the IT guy. “I spilled cherry vodka all over my carpet, and my date’s going to be here any minute. It’s a white carpet, and it’s so obvious! She’s gonna see it the moment she walks in, and her Tinder profile said she hates sloppy guys. It’s gonna be our last date, dude.”Akaashi feels a piercing headache shooting through his skull. “Wrong number,” he grits out, and goes to hang up, but before his finger can hit the red button, the voice chimes through the speaker again.“So that’s why I have my Kao 2-in-1 bleach and cleanser spray! Are you interested in purchasing a bottle?”-In which Bokuto is a particularly creative part-time telemarketer, and Akaashi blatantly violates the golden rule: "Do Not Talk to Strangers".
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 12
Kudos: 151





	fly to my room (little less lonely)

**Author's Note:**

> We're all born alone and we'll all die alone, but that doesn't mean we have to live life alone.
> 
> -
> 
> I do not own Kao, or Haikyuu!! The Kao products listed are entirely fictional (although I wish they weren't).

It starts off as the worst Monday ever.

First off, Akaashi had nearly been late to work that morning, and it was pouring heavily as he practically sprinted into the office sopping wet, his useless umbrella flapping at his side. Even though Takeda-san, his supervisor, had been nothing but lovely to him since he’d started this job a little over two weeks ago, Akaashi couldn’t help but feel like he had something to prove to his department. Being the youngest editor ever accepted into such a prestigious publishing company wasn’t a bed of roses, especially with how everyone seemed to be watching his every move, waiting for him to slip up.

So he hears more than a few “tsks” when he settles into his cubicle, tip of his ears burning. His wet socks squelch miserably in his shoes as he shuffles in his chair, a mountain of files waiting for him on his table as usual.

_I should have taken Konoha-san up on that gossip columnist role_ , he thinks.

The rest of the morning passes uneventfully, and Akaashi’s coat is almost dried by lunchtime, which is when one of his colleagues stops by his desk with a thick stack of papers, which is never a good thing. “Takeda-san needs this by the end of today. You’re experienced in this subject, so I think you’ll do a great job!” She dumps the papers on his table and waltzes off, leaving Akaashi alone in the office.

He barely manages to get the work done by five, which is when he decides to reward himself with a cup of tea from the vending machine. Of course, by providence of Murphy’s law, the thing that could go wrong does go wrong, and Akaashi’s laptop gives an ominous hiss as the puddle of tea sinks into his keyboard. And then his screen fizzles and blacks out.

“Alright, since it’s your first time, you probably don’t have to pay for destruction of company property,” the guy from IT says when he comes up to collect Akaashi’s laptop. Half of his hair is sticking up like a rooster’s crown, and Akaashi suspects it’s a natural bedhead as opposed to a deliberate style. He’s wearing ripped jeans and a bright red graphic shirt, sticking out like a sore thumb in the office full of editors in sharp suits. Someone, probably him, has scribbled “KUROO” around the hem of his right sleeve. “Just joking, dude. Don’t look so glum. I’ll let you know later to tell you if it needs replacing.”

Without his laptop, he’s pretty much unable to do any work for the rest of the day, so he leaves the office before the sun sets for once. There’s no trace of the torrential rain that had engulfed the city this morning, and Tokyo burns under the searing gaze of the setting sun. Akaashi feels sweat pooling in his collar as the bus jerks to a stop, causing the lady in front of him to totter a little on her heels. Akaashi flinches instinctively, only to bump into another person standing behind him. To make matters worse, the air conditioning in the bus is down. As a middle-aged man accidentally elbows him in the stomach on his way out of the bus, Akaashi gasps, and inadvertently inhales the stench of too-heavy perfume, cologne, and sweat.

The cherry on top of his perfect day comes in the form of the eardrums-shattering music emitting from next door when he finally climbed the five flights of stairs to his apartment- the lift had chosen today to break down too- courtesy of his new neighbours, a group of college kids. There are shoes spilling across the whole hallway, and there are two boys aggressively making out right next to his door, a tall boy with dark hair pinning a short ginger boy to the wall.

They have the decency to break apart and move away when Akaashi gives a soft “ahem” as he goes to unlock his door, but Akaashi can’t help but think this is the universe’s way of loudly reminding him of his perpetual singlehood. Akaashi had always been quiet, growing up, choosing to let his writing speak in place of his voice. He’s made a couple of friends here and there, but they’ve mostly been transient and circumstantial.

He’s fine with that, he thinks. At the end of the day, everyone leaves life the way they entered- alone.

He’s methodically scrubbing at the cutlery he’d used for dinner when his phone rings loudly from the counter. Cursing, he washes his hands hastily before fumbling to press answer without even looking at the caller ID, his phone nearly slipping through his wet hands.

“Bro,” an urgent voice filters down the line. It’s not Kuroo, the IT guy. “I spilled cherry vodka all over my carpet, and my date’s going to be here any minute. It’s a white carpet, and it’s so obvious! She’s gonna see it the moment she walks in, and her Tinder profile said she hates sloppy guys. It’s gonna be our last date, dude.”

Akaashi feels a piercing headache shooting through his skull. “Wrong number,” he grits out, and goes to hang up, but before his finger can hit the red button, the voice chimes through the speaker again.

“So that’s why I have my Kao 2-in-1 bleach and cleanser spray! Are you interested in purchasing a bottle?”

“What.”

“I’m calling on behalf of Kao,” the voice is too cheerful. “Bokuto Koutarou speaking. We are having a promotion now, so if you order a minimum of five bottles, you’ll get one free bottle plus free delivery to any address in Tokyo!”

“What,” Akaashi says again. After the day he’s had, his brain can’t quite catch up with this bizarre turn of events.

“I’m a telemarketer? I didn’t actually spill any cherry vodka on my carpet, and I don’t actually have a date! I’m not even into girls. Really, I’m just trying to sell you the bleach spray. Wait, are you mad? Oh my god, you’re totally mad. Please don’t call the police on me. This isn’t fraud, is it? Can I plead the Fifth? Oh crap, I can’t remember what that is-”

“You’re thinking of the Fifth Amendment in the US,” Akaashi has recovered enough to regain some semblance of control over his vocal cord. “That’s Article 38 in the Japan Constitution.”

“Woah!” Bokuto sounds awestruck. “How did you know that?”

“I went to law school.”

“Shit, are you a lawyer? You’re not gonna sue me, are you? I don’t think I have that kind of money, since Kao isn’t going to hire a lawyer for some telemarketer they hired for a month. Can I just wire you fifty bucks so you don’t call the police?”

“That’s bribery,” Akaashi says. _He’s a mess_ , he thinks.

Bokuto lets out a wail. Akaashi can hear his despair crackling through the speaker. “I’m just digging a bigger grave for myself at this point, aren’t I?”

“I’m not a lawyer,” Akaashi feels a twinge of sympathy for this guy, who sounds like a whole wreck and a half.

“Thank goodness!” Bokuto exclaims enigmatically. “Why not, though? Did you drop out? Wait, that was so rude. Oh my god, don’t call the police-”

Akaashi surprises the both of them by letting out a small laugh. “I graduated, actually. But I didn’t like the industry, so I decided not to be a lawyer.”

“I didn’t know people would go to law school and not be a lawyer after! What are you doing now, then?”

“I’m an editor,” he says. Honestly, he doesn’t know why he hasn’t hung up yet. Akaashi doesn’t even pick up calls from unknown numbers, let alone make conversation with complete strangers. For all he knows, this is all part of some elaborate scheme where he finds a phone bill for five thousand yen in a couple of days. Or, worse, some crime syndicate is recording his voice and then making deepfakes based on it. With technology these days, no one really knows what dangers lie around the next corner. Yet Akaashi doesn’t hang up.

“Like for a newspaper? That’s so cool! Do you get to read news stories before they come out? Like insider information? Hey, do you know when the next iPhone is coming out?”

“I edit articles, not read the future.”

Bokuto laughs, a hearty sound that somehow makes his cold, spacious apartment a little warmer. “My teammate on my volleyball team actually can read the future!”

“You play volleyball?” Akaashi asks, curious in spite of himself.

“I’m in the MSBY Black Jackals! Or was, anyway. I sprained my ankle pretty badly, so the doctor ordered me to rest for two months. And that’s why I’m doing this now! It’s not so bad, actually- I can get paid from sitting in my bed and talking on the phone!” Akaashi thinks he sounds pretty upbeat for a guy whose career is hanging by a thread. He’s no expert in sports, but he’s pretty sure a break that long has to be severely damaging to a professional athlete’s career.

It’s probably this inadvertent sympathy that compels him to say, unprompted, “I used to play volleyball too.”

“ _No way_ ,” Bokuto gushes. “What did you play? Wait, no, let me guess. You don’t seem like the flashy kind, but you seem pretty smart. Did you play setter?”

Akaashi finds himself feeling impressed. For all of the guy’s rambling earlier on, he’s unexpectedly perceptive. “I did.”

“Ah, you should totally set for me some time! You sound like you’d be way nicer than my setter now. Tsum-tsum always forces me to jump extra high. Which is good, I guess, but I want to focus more energy into my spikes, you know? Like bam! When I jump high, it’s more like pew.”

“Do you tell this to all your customers?” Akaashi asks, in spite of himself. “Ask them to play volleyball with you?”

“Well, you’re the only one I’ve had such a long conversation with.” Akaashi feels his cheeks warm, and then feels silly. This is a stranger who’s being paid to talk to him, he tells himself firmly. “Usually they either agree to buy or not. Actually, most people don’t pick up. Makes things faster, since I’m paid per sale?”

“So why are you spending so long talking to me?” Akaashi wonders out loud. His legs are beginning to ache from standing so long, so he leans a little on his counter, the soapy dishes in the sink long forgotten.

“Ah,” Bokuto sounds slightly bashful. “I guess it’s been pretty quiet for me the past couple of weeks? I’m used to hanging with my team all the time, but now that I can’t go to practice…” He trails off.

It strikes a chord within Akaashi, standing alone in his shoebox apartment, with no furniture in the lounge but a table with a solitary chair pushed against the wall. He has exactly one of every type of cutlery, not because he can’t afford more, but because it’s not like he needs a second set. His walls are bare- no photos, or art pieces. There are no extra futons in his closet.

“Plus,” Bokuto adds, with no trace of shame this time, “your voice is really pretty! I could listen to you for hours, really.”

Akaashi laughs at that, but he can’t help the swooping feeling in his stomach. “See, now _that_ I know is a marketing technique.”

“For real,” Bokuto insists earnestly, and Akaashi really can’t find it in himself to doubt that voice. “And you know what they always say.”

“What do they always say?” Akaashi plays along, leaning forward a little.

“That people with pretty voices have pretty faces,” Bokuto replies.

Akaashi laughs again, but this time it comes out a little more breathless. “I think you’re being too generous, Bokuto-san.”

“Hey, why’d you call me Bokuto-san? For all you know I could be older than you, Akaashi-san.”

“I turn 26 this year.” It feels like a particularly intimate confession, and the more rational part of his brain is vehemently protesting this entire sequence of events.

“Ha! I’m turning 27 in September!” Bokuto crows. “Wait, that means you’re right. But I still like being called Bokuto-san!”

“Whatever you say, Bokuto-san.” There’s a comfortable lull in the conversation, and the silence, for once, isn’t deafening.

“Hey,” Bokuto speaks again. “I kinda don’t wanna stop talking to you, but I have to change my bandages and stuff. Is it weird if I ask you to hold for a bit? I want to keep talking to you, I’ll be back ASAP, I promise.”

_Yes, it’s weird_ , Akaashi thinks. It’s weird to be spending all night talking to a stranger, who might just be a cannibal or a serial killer, but this complete stranger someone loosens the knots around his chest, and the colours in the room are just a little more saturated. So he gives himself a free pass on this one, and nods, before he remembers that Bokuto can’t see him.

“Sure,” he says, and he puts the phone on speaker mode as he finishes the rest of his washing up, and goes to prepare for bed too. He’s laying back in his bed, pillows stacked below his head, when Bokuto speaks again.

“Are you still there? Sorry, I went to brush my teeth while I was at it.” Akaashi puts the phone right beside his ear, so it feels like Bokuto is right next to him.

“I’m here,” he says quietly, and Bokuto’s sigh of relief is audible through the phone. “I know it’s strange, but sometimes I have trouble sleeping when things get too quiet.”

“Me too,” Akaashi turns to lie on his back, and stares up at the shadows cast by the streetlights splayed across his ceiling. “I know exactly how you feel.”

“Are you lying in bed?” Bokuto asks. “This feels like a sleepover.”

“I’ve never been to a sleepover,” Akaashi confesses softly. “My parents were strict.”

“Ah, that’s such a shame,” Bokuto’s voice has taken on a quieter tone, with none of its boisterous energy from earlier, but still filled with the same warmth. “But it’s never too late to start, right? We’re having your first virtual sleepover now.”

“What do people do at sleepovers? Watch horror films? Should we paint our nails?”

“I’d totally paint your nails if you wanted me to. But actually, I was talking about like, y’know, deep talks.”

“Like whether aliens exist?”

“I don’t know, what do you think?”

Before Akaashi knows it, it’s one in the morning, and he belatedly remembers that he still has to work tomorrow. Somehow, he’s dreading it a lot less than he was a few hours ago.

“Hey, I’m kinda sleepy,” Bokuto audibly stifles a yawn. “Do you think we could do this again though? I really feel way better, talking to you.”

_I do too_ , Akaashi thinks. “Do I have to buy your bleach spray to do that?”

“I’m being serious,” Bokuto insists. “Wait, I just realised I don’t know your name.”

“Akaashi Keiji. I think,” Akaashi hesitates, “I think I’d like that too.”

“I wish you could fly to my room, Akaashi-kun,” Bokuto says softly, so softly that Akaashi nearly misses it. “I’m a little less lonely now.”

Akaashi takes a deep breath. “Me too,” he manages to say out loud. “Talk to you again, Bokuto-san.”

He can feel Bokuto’s smile in his voice. “Goodnight, Aghashee,” he mumbles.

Akaashi hangs up, and feels the corner of his lips tilt upwards. _Good night indeed_.

* * *

The [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YSuOwf24psk) that inspired this piece

Click [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27056251) to check out my Sakuatsu shrine

**Author's Note:**

> my first bokuaka fic! (and also my first non-sakuatsu fic lol) I've been kinda bouncing this idea around for a while, but law school is sucking the life out of me, so I only got the final push to finish this today because I got super inspired by a song from BTS' new album, fly to my room, which inspired the title of this piece. as always, I'd love to hear your feedback. until the next time I post, please take care!


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